He's Back
by KillTheLights95
Summary: It's been a long time since they've seen each other...but now he's back...


**In this story, please pretend that Katniss and Peeta didn't wait fifteen years to have kids. They had their children when they were thirty.  
**

**This story will be four chapters long. Hope you like it!  
**

**1**

**This Ought To Be Good**

**Gale's POV**

_The two boys are in the yard, tossing mud in one another's faces. Their clothes are drenched with sweat, rain and dirt, and they are out of breath, but still they play, running in dizzying circles and getting completely caked in filth. This is the kind of freedom I longed for as I child, the kind of carefree playing I yearned my younger siblings to have. But no. We had the Hunger Games looming over us, threatening to destroy our world._

"_Gale." Tory places her hand on my arm and gently turns me toward her. I realise I have tears in my eyes, but I make no attempt to conceal them. Tory places her lips on mine and I taste her, sweet and smooth under my lips. She pulls away slightly and I gaze into her sparkly green eyes. I push a tendril of red hair off of her face and she smiles slightly. "What are you thinking about?" she asks._

"_How we never had that," I reply, gesturing to our sons outside. They are still playing, their red mops of hair now dark brown with grime. _

"_But if we had had it, do you think I ever would have met you?" she asks. "Would you have ever come to Two?"_

"_No," I say. She clasps my face between her pale fingers and kisses me again._

"_Then you have to be a little bit glad," she says. "Whenever you think like that, just remember me, and the boys. And how your brothers and sister might not have had the best childhood, but they made it through as well."_

_I clutch her hand and slide my other arm over her shoulder as we stride outdoors to join our sons, and prepare to get very messy…_

**Thirteen Years Later**

Tory and I tell my mother that we will not be long. She stares at me exasperatedly, but she knows I have to go. She has reason to be mad – I have not been back to District Twelve once since the rebellion, and apart from a couple of trips to District Two, she has not seen me or my family.

I grip Tory's hand and we walk through the streets. They are no longer narrow and surrounded by tiny cramped houses. The streets are wide and clean, no trace of coal dust left. The houses are larger, with neatly trimmed gardens and curtains in the windows.

Tory is smiling. "It must be weird," she says. "To be back so many years later to a place you once called home."

"It is," I agree. "But I like it. It's so different." We pass a few people I recognize, people I grew up with or old neighbours who moved back to Twelve during the bombing cleanup. They wave at me and I nod my head courteously. It is bizarre to see these people in clean clothes, with smiling faces and healthy bodies. I've only ever known them as poor, miserable, starving people that I tried to avert my gaze from to avoid the overwhelming guilt.

We reach the square and I stop in my tracks. The cobblestones are swept clean, the shop windows laden with flowers and merchandise. Thread's vicious constructions have been removed and in their place is a fountain, spurting water at random intervals. This place, the scene of decades of reapings and brutal punishments – my own, for example – has been transformed.

I locate the bakery, dozens of breads and delicately frosted cakes decorating the window. I turn to my wife and say, "I think I need to go in alone."

Tory nods and kisses my cheek. Then she makes for the fountain, where she perches on the stone wall surrounding it, chuckling as young children dance in the shallow water.

I head for the bakery and peer in the window before entering. There's nobody behind the counter so I enter, the bell jingling as I do so. The bell must have sounded right into the back because a girl enters and stands behind the counter. Her black hair is loose and spilling around her shoulders. An apron is tied round her waist and her face is smeared with flour. Her eyes are a dazzling azure blue, the very same as her father's.

She seems to recognize me because she calls into the back and motions for me to move closer. I walk right up to the counter and she stretches out her hand. "Hi. I'm Carya."

She must have inherited her father's conversational skills, because Katniss would never greet someone this immediately. I shake her hand and say, "I'm Gale."

"I know," she nods, smiling slightly. It's at that moment that Peeta emerges. His hair is longer, his burn scars faded almost to nothing, his eyes slightly creased with wrinkles, but apart from these minor changes, he's exactly the same.

"Carya, go finish up in the back please," he says. She looks disappointed but does as he asks.

Peeta turns his attention to me. "You look different than I imagined," he says.

"What did you imagine?" I ask, confused.

"Whenever I see you on TV, you look angry and irritated – in a good way, of course. It's part of your job. But now, you look more relaxed."

"Probably something to do with being home. Seeing my mother and stuff," I answer.

He dusts his hands on his apron before saying, "Is your family here?"

"Yeah," I say. "My sons are at my mother's and my wife's outside."

"I'd like to meet them," says Peeta. "Katniss would too you know."

This is it. The first mention of Katniss in our conversation. "You really think Katniss wants to meet my family, let alone me?"

"Yes, Gale," Peeta laughs. "Believe it or not. But maybe it should just be you to start with. Considering I haven't exactly told her you're here yet."

"What?" I splutter. "She doesn't know?"

"Oh, she knows you're coming," Peeta says hastily. "I just didn't tell her when."

"This ought to be good," I say acerbically.

Peeta's features twitch into a smile. "How 'bout you come round tomorrow? Say around eleven? Then your family could maybe come over around twelve?"

"Sure," I say. I extend my hand to him and he shakes it. Before I can leave though, he presses a loaf of still-warm bread into my hand. He waves me off before I can pay for it, saying "It's a gift." A gift I have no choice but to accept.

As I cross to the fountain, Tory stands up. "How'd it go? Was she there?"

I laugh. "Nope. I met their daughter though. She's like Katniss' twin, 'cept from the eyes and the attitude. And I spoke with Peeta," I add.

Tory and I link arms as we begin the short walk back to my mother's. I hesitate before saying, "He wants us to come round tomorrow. Just me, to start with. Then you and the boys."

Tory knots her eyebrows in confusion. "I thought you said she wasn't the social type?"

We laugh together, our voices harmonising – Tory's soft sweetness and my edgy snigger. "That's what I thought. But I guess she's changed. Everyone's changed. I mean, there was a time when I wouldn't even stand in the same room as Peeta, let alone have a conversation with him."

Tory stops and turns me towards her. "Was there ever a time where you'd never give a girl like me a chance?"

I lean my head down to touch her forehead and our eyes meet, locking with an intensity that I adore. "Never," I whisper, and press my lips to hers.

**Please review!**


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